Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1887-05-26

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"That boy,'' said my friend, "has a
wonderful story in connection with his
short life, and these poor people look |
upon his presence among them as a
good omen. At this moment they are
blessing him for that burst of sunshine
which, few moments ago, helped to
make our lazy life endurable up there
at the Hotel Christol.'
In the drawing-room OF our hotel
my friend told me the story of poor
Jacopo: Four years previous to the
events herein narrated, Jacopo was
left an orphan, together with his only
sister Claire. Both belonged to the
Haute Vile that frowns down upon us
up there as if in its pride of age it
scorned this plebeian Bias Vile. They
became so attached to each other that
they were inseparable, and the neigh
bors loved them for their beauty, their
innocence and their affection. The
children wandered hand in hand for
hours through the quiet old town. At
times they were found playing among
the sand accumulated in front of the
Porte Dune, with its grim and heavy
port utilised gate; at others they
played in front of the queer little house
where Godfrey de Bouillon, the first
CRUSADER King of Jeruselum, a thou
sand years ago was born; but above all
they loved to stroll through the cathe-
dral, gazing with awe at every thing
the great gold candles, the splendid
affairs, the valuable pictures of Christ
and the Mother of Sorrows, the blue
spangled arched roof with the yellow
stars, and the gruesome offerings made
by patients who have been cured of
maladies by persistent appeals to some
favorite saint. They even spent
hours among the crypts, where endless
tombs and few slots in the damp,
bare walls made every thing look so
weird and systematically solemn that,
except in the daytime, not even the
bravest of the residents of the Haute
Vile would venture among them.
These children, however, were too in
nocent to know fear. And SO they
went along together hand in hand
through the grass-grown old streets of
Godfrey's birthplace.
But one day Claire died. She was a
blonde and Jacopo was dark. At first
the child Jacopo could not understand
what had become of his beloved sister.
He saw her little body strewn with
fresh-cut flowers and the chaplet of
snow-white flowers that surrounded
her marble brow where the yellow silk
hair strayed down freest. He touched
her face and cried: "Claire, ma
Claire, why do you not speak to meP
1t is only me, little brother Jacopo"
And when no answer came from the lit
tie dead body, his paroxysms of grief
became so violent that the good-heart-
ed neighbors said he would surely kill
himself, and carried him away.
One day the now utterly forlorn child
was walking, half sobbing, through a
narrow old street, where queer gabled
houses cast fantastic shadows along the
almost forsaken thoroughfare, and no
sound disturbed the silence but the
praise-singing of some pious sister in
one of the converts that abound in the
Haute Vile, when vicious young man,
known as "Le Savage" approached
Jacopo and laughed and TESTED at him
for his weeping for a mere girl.
"You ought to be girl yourself. II
you want to find Claire, why do you
not 90 down to the crypt of the Cathe-
dral at midnight, and then you will
find your sister,"
The child looked up with his large
dark eyes flashing with the light of ex-
pectat,on.
"And shall l truly find ma chere
Claire therep" Jacopo asked.
"Of course you will, you little fool, "
said the savage, as he ran off down one
of the ghostly streets of old Bologne.
On that same night the fat old sac
ristan of sthe Cathedral was aroused
from his slumbers by hearing shrill
cries issuing from somewhere in the
great edifice. The hour was midnight.
Father Hildehrand crossed himself
commended himself to the protection
of the Holy Mother and, triply armed
in his faith, proceeded to search fol
the cause of the mysterious sounds. Al
his football echoed and re-echoet
through the lonely aisles his soul be
came troubled with strange fears
, What if it were thieves breaking int
the church to rob it of its sacred treas
uresp What if-and the thought mad,
him shudder--it were some manifesto
, ton from another worldp But Fathe
: Hildebrand crossed himself anew ant
went on with renewed strength of pur
pose. At last he reached the end o
J the great cloister and felt sure h
heard the sobs and cries of child
Advancing cautiously, shading hi
candle carefully with one hand, HI
swept past the different tombs. The
he saw sight which arrested his fur
Their progress for minute. In from
of a great ancestral family tom
stood weeping child with its hand
clasped and held up toward the shat
of moonlight which pierced throug
one of the narrow Sits in the THO
: stone wall and shone full upon tn
: boys face as he walled; Ma Claire
ma Claire, ma seur, why do you nc
come to me when l call? 1t is onl
: me, little Jacopo! o, do not be unkin
: to your petit trere~ The child at las
. sank upon his knees, swsyed for FEY
| seconds and then fell heavily on tn
} damp stone squares. When Fathe
Hildebrand reached the boy-for, {
: course, it was poor little Jacopo-